Silent Nights (#poem)

Silent nights we meet again
You come to me just like a friend
No matter how far I move away
You whisper in my ear with much to say

No trains to keep me company
No late night after hours cacophony
Just you and me after the daylight hours
When construction crews unplug their power

The night is silent with quiet sighs
Even the cats whisper good night
Of all the nights to lie awake
Vespers before dawn I cannot shake

The best laid plans of Mice and Men
“Hello darkness my old friend”
High school books and music sing
Midnight at the Oasis take me back again


Lyrics vs. Poems

When I submitted my first song for professional feedback, my mentor said the writing was very good but added that it was more poem than lyric. He gave me some suggestions on how to transition it into a song. I took his advice and Does Everybody Lie? became Everybody Lies.

So when I was writing “poems” during the wee hours of the morning trying to cope with our temporary housing, I noticed that they sometimes seemed more lyric than poem. I turned to my Berklee professor Pat Pattison for his words on the difference between a poem and a lyric. Here’s what he had to say on a Writer’s Digest article.

The middle-of-the-night poem/lyric writing was a valuable exercise because I began to think more like a poet/songwriter. I also think I may have now transitioned from novelist to songwriter – that’s certainly where my heart is. I’m also practicing the keys, working on my music production craft, thinking that perhaps 2018 is the year I go “all in” when it comes to music.


Home for Christmas

When my literary agent said that my writing had a “poetic, almost lyrical rhythm” to it, I began to wonder what that meant. I didn’t know my father and his family during my childhood, but I’d heard that my paternal grandmother had written poetry and my paternal grandfather and family were all musicians.

So I began writing poems, and my first song release, Everybody Lies, started out as a poem. During the last 50 days of the last 7 months living in temporary housing as our new house was being built, I wrote poems every night. I’ll be sorting through them to see if any have song potential.

We’re still unpacking but once I get a bit settled, I’ll be making plans for 2018 and where I go with my art next year. I’m working on an album, which I’d love to finish next year, and I’m working on a novel, too.

I’ll Be Home for Christmas is the perfect song for me this year and this house is gift enough, although I wouldn’t mind getting a new set of speakers for my studio. 🙂

I wish you all a happy holiday season and a fabulous new year!

Sound of Silence (#poem)

The Sound of Silence rings through my ears
Still Hooked on a Feeling after so many years
It was all ahead of me, this romance called life
Falling in Love, becoming somebody’s wife

That year was amazing, I sat next to Tom
Singing on stage, dreaming of the Prom
Co-rec nights swimming in the pool
Merrill walking me home from school

Cathi and I wearing red dresses
Selling yearbook ads looking so festive
Flirting with firemen in tennis classes
Running from dates making passes at dances

Boys crashing sleepover nights with friends
Like a scene out of Grease wearing my pink nightgown
Not Sandra Dee, but “Hey, Mrs. Robinson!”
Had a crush on Dustin Hoffman or was it Benjamin?

Those Nights in White Satin I dream of tonight
The music remembers, making everything all right
Like the drum beat of the world heard by August Rush
The Sound of Silence is that Kind of Hush

A Young Girl’s Dreams (#poem)

A young girl dreams at ten or eleven
Of riches and fame, singing on stage
Elvis matinees and Beatlemania she starts writing songs of her own
She can see it now who she wants to be when fully grown

A young girl dreams at sweet sixteen strolling the streets in the city
A storefront window peeks her interest as she catches a glimpse in the mirror
The cradle beckons offering an inkling of what might become her future
Laughter, Love, a handsome man, a happily ever after

Looking back she wonders how she veered off track
Was it a lack of choice, the choices she made, or just circumstance
Whatever it was doesn’t matter now cuz there’s no going back
It wasn’t meant to be anyhow, not the dance she was meant to dance

So she picks up a guitar, a keyboard not far and she starts writing songs
Some dreams disappear and others appear
Revealing which were right and which were wrong
Following her heart all along

California Girl, Kentucky Boy (#poem)

I searched for an old friend the other day
I met him in California in the sixth grade
I never expected to find him that way
When I saw the obituary of my old Kentucky Flame

I remember the day this Kentucky boy met this California girl
You never forget the first to call you on the phone or carry your books home from school
We listened to Elvis records on my record player in the garage
He said he loved me and chased me around the front yard

He played guitar and I wrote songs
He said he’d never seen the ocean but he’d seen it all along
Seems like yesterday we played those innocent kissing games
How could the light go out for my old Kentucky Flame?

Like it or Not (#poem)

Secrets and lies kept us apart
The truth did arise that you were deep in my heart
I searched and I searched and alas you were found
But when I revealed myself, you didn’t want me around

I pulled away and wiped my tears
Rejection did not occur to me, wasn’t one of my fears
Was I so stupid to not realize
You couldn’t see the love I had for you as if in disguise?

In that moment, it all became clear
Why I didn’t fit in here, why I didn’t belong there
This feeling has haunted me my whole life through
How can I be me, what should I do?

I prayed and I prayed, “God, where are you?”
I listened and I heard, at last He came through
“I had a purpose when I Created you from that musical lot
You belong with them whether they like it or not”

I Woke Up Dreaming (#poem)

I woke up dreaming
Eating ice cream
Like a little girl

She walked up to me lightly
She smiled at me brightly
And my big sister curls

He hugged me and squeezed me
As if he really loved me
It was so surreal

“I can’t get enough of you”
“Now that’s your second hug I’ve given, too”
Like a proud papa, he spun me around in a twirl

“No, no, no,” I say
I don’t need such affectionate displays
Not how I choose this story to unfurl

Once upon a time maybe
When I was as innocent as a baby
And believed this was how we could all truly feel

Rushing Around (#poem)

“Why the rush?” the sexy hero asked the feisty heroine
I recognized the harried woman in the novel as me
How did I get there, how did I become that someone?
I flipped back the pages, turning the spotlight on my mother to see

Sending us off to school, scurrying around the house
Washing clothes, drying on the line, mopping floors, buffing to get that shine
Password and the Fugutive while ironing a blouse
Housework all finished leaves time to garden and unwind

To get it all done before half past five
When he walks through the door five forty four
“What did you do all day?” is his evening chide
If she hadn’t rushed around, he’d have seen so much more

I don’t why she had to work so fast
In the end, it just kicked her in the ass.

Asshat Men (#poem)

There’s a certain kind of man I’d rather not ever meet
They come at you when least expected and step on your feet
Saying and doing what they would never say or do to a man
They save this for me, yes, that’s their special plan
They puff up their chests, preen, and dance as if they’re the King of Siam
Oh look at him, Sam I am

The first time I recall, I was sixteen working on my very first job
Chatting with the line cook, we were staring at our pay stubs
He abused his position, he demanded to know what I was paid
When I returned the favor, he slammed his fist in my face
And then he said,
“Don’t ever ask a man how much money he made.”

Yesterday I visited the construction site
Taking photos of my new home in the broad daylight
“Big boss man” drove by in his macho truck, stopped to complain of lost materials as if it was my fault
I saw a familiar smirk on his face, with a big toothy grin revealing he was no friend
16 or 60, it does not matter to them
Send me more real men – you can keep weak, asshat men